Part 3 (2/2)

(_She presses her cheek to_ MISS SUSAN'S.)

MISS SUSAN (_softly_). Phoebe, I have a wedding gift for you.

PHOEBE. Not yet?

MISS SUSAN. It has been ready for a long time. I began it when you were not ten years old and I was a young woman. I meant it for myself, Phoebe. I had hoped that he--his name was William--but I think I must have been too unattractive, my love.

PHOEBE. Sweetest--dearest----

MISS SUSAN. I always a.s.sociate it with a sprigged poplin I was wearing that summer, with a breadth of coloured silk in it, being a naval officer; but something happened, a Miss Cicely Pemberton, and they are quite big boys now. So long ago, Phoebe--he was very tall, with brown hair--it was most foolish of me, but I was always so fond of sewing--with long straight legs and such a pleasant expression.

PHOEBE. Susan, what was it?

MISS SUSAN. It was a wedding-gown, my dear. Even plain women, Phoebe, we can't help it; when we are young we have romantic ideas just as if we were pretty. And so the wedding-gown was never used. Long before it was finished I knew he would not offer, but I finished it, and then I put it away. I have always hidden it from you, Phoebe, but of late I have brought it out again, and altered it.

(_She goes to ottoman and unlocks it._)

PHOEBE. Susan, I could not wear it. (MISS SUSAN _brings the wedding-gown._) Oh! how sweet, how beautiful!

MISS SUSAN. You will wear it, my love, won't you? And the tears it was sewn with long ago will all turn into smiles on my Phoebe's wedding-day.

(_They are tearfully happy when a knock is heard on the street door._)

PHOEBE. That knock.

MISS SUSAN. So das.h.i.+ng.

PHOEBE. So imperious. (_She is suddenly panic-stricken._) Susan, I think he kissed me once.

MISS SUSAN (_startled_). You _think_?

PHOEBE. I know he did. That evening--a week ago, when he was squiring me home from the concert. It was raining, and my face was wet; he said that was why he did it.

MISS SUSAN. Because your face was wet?

PHOEBE. It does not seem a sufficient excuse now.

MISS SUSAN (_appalled_). O Phoebe, before he had offered.

PHOEBE (_in distress_). I fear me it was most unladylike.

(VALENTINE BROWN _is shown in. He is a frank, genial young man of twenty-five who honestly admires the ladies, though he is amused by their quaintness. He is modestly aware that it is in the blue and white room alone that he is esteemed a wit._)

BROWN. Miss Susan, how do you do, ma'am? Nay, Miss Phoebe, though we have met to-day already I insist on shaking hands with you again.

MISS SUSAN. Always so das.h.i.+ng.

<script>